Confinement
by ApostateRevolutionary
Summary: A depiction of Anders' year in solitary confinement. Note: This fic is intended to be upsetting, and contains a lot of disturbing content. Any triggers you may have probably appear at some point. You have been warned. Also a big shout-out to tumblr user ominousdeer for doing a beta of this :D
1. Day 1

"You don't have to be so rough! I'm not exactly resisting here!" Anders cried as two Templars whisked him down the hall, their gauntleted fingers digging into his biceps.

After his latest successful escape – he was pretty sure it was his sixth, but he'd long since lost count considering his successes were vastly outnumbered by his failures – he'd made it all the way to Denerim before the Templars caught up with him. After spending Maker only knows how many nights at The Pearl and running out of the money he'd managed to scrounge up, he'd decided to go one more round with that pirate girl he'd met there. That had been a mistake, obviously, since the Templars showed up just as he was about to put his robes back on. Boy, had that been something to see though. The Templars had come in expecting a fight, but instead found him shocked and naked, with an equally shocked and naked woman in the bed next to him. If he had more shame, he probably would've been embarrassed, but it wasn't as if it was the first time he'd been caught in such circumstances.

"Shut up, mage!" the Templar on his left snapped.

Anders only rolled his eyes. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to this by now. He was pretty sure he'd even done this routine with that Templar before. The one on his right seemed new though. All the new recruits had the same unsure, stiff gait when they were doing anything other than staring at the mages. From the sway of their hips, they could've even been a woman. That was good for him. If he had the opportunity to try, his charms just might work then. He'd tried it on the men too, but for some reason all the male Templars seemed immune, which was always disappointing. There seemed to more men than women who entered the Order, after all.

To his surprise, they arrived at the common quarters for the mages. He was sure they were going to take him to the dungeons. However, the quarters were empty. There were always mages here, reading, studying, or talking in hushed tones. The Templar on his right, the new one, released him and closed the door. For a moment, fear washed over the mage. The Templar still holding his arm like a vice handed him a folded shirt and trousers before releasing his grip.

"Get changed." he said, crossing his arms.

Anders paused before realizing his captor wasn't going to leave. He'd learned young that situations like these often ended badly, so he took a moment to assess the threat. The second guard remained by the door, making a point of not looking in their direction. The Templar close to him hadn't turned away, but his eyes were fixed on the far wall instead of the mage before him. The years of experience Anders had in avoiding Templar abuses told him to relax, as these two clearly weren't interested. Concluding he was safe, he decided to ensure the nearby Templar was at least as uncomfortable as he was.

"Oh, so you like to watch? Shall I put on a show, then?" Anders purred as he raised an eyebrow, trying to sound seductive.

"Oh, just get on with it." the Templar groaned, sounding exasperated.

That was the reaction he'd been hoping for. Anders shrugged, satisfied his comment had worked, and changed quickly, the rough material turning out to be much less comfortable than his soft robes. Why they were forcing him to change for a routine stint in the dungeons, he didn't know, but he knew better than to outwardly refuse. It was much safer and more effective to simply annoy the Templars.

After he was changed, the other Templar returned to his side, and they resumed their death grip on his arms while leading him in the direction of the dungeons.

"Again, you don't need to be so rough. I have the route memorized by now." Anders protested, but it was just as effective as the first time he'd said it.

After virtually every escape attempt, whether he'd actually pulled it off or not, he would be placed in the dungeons. They'd keep him there for a few days, never so long as a week, before releasing him and giving him a lecture about the necessity of the Circle, and how he didn't want to become an apostate, and a bunch of other things he didn't give a shit about. Locking him up may have sounded like a relatively light punishment, but that depended entirely on who was in charge of him during it. Some of the Templars would deny him meals, or try to make him beg for food. He never did, and eventually they'd give up, but not until after a few nights on an empty stomach. Others would just use more force than necessary. Not so much that it'd be considered a beating, but enough that he'd end up with bruises and scrapes conveniently hidden by his robes. Despite this, none of his imprisonments had managed to tamper with his desire for freedom, and this one would be no different.

They reached the cell, and after one of the Templars unlocked it, he was unceremoniously thrown onto the cold, stone floor. He turned to glare at his captors just as they shut the heavy metal door. Anders pouted as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There were no windows to the outside, and the door was solid iron. The only source of light came from the edges of the small access window on the door. It was covered with another sheet of metal, but light from the outside hall peaked in from the edges around it. The sheet of metal slid, but it could only be done from the outside; he knew because he'd tried to open it more than once, and failed every time. Besides, even if he could get it open, it was only large enough for meals to be placed inside. Maybe he could get his arm through but then what was he to do? Wave at the Templars? Yeah, that'd be effective.

He began the ritual he always did whenever he was locked up: figure out what went wrong with his most recent escape, and make a note never to do that again. When he was confined to the tower, part of him thought he'd never actually succeed. They'd always find him again using his phylactery. Anders tried hard to crush those doubts, but it got tougher each time he ended up back in Kinloch Hold. When he was free, though, that was an entirely different story. It was as if he had the whole world at his disposal, and he felt as though he'd never be caught. That was probably what kept going wrong. He'd get far too excited about his freedom, embracing things he never knew, and end up staying too long in one place. That seemed to be how they found him.

It was so hard not to get caught up in it, though. He remembered so vividly each breath of fresh air, each sun beam warming his skin. The first time he escaped, it had been during a rain storm. He remembered standing on the shores of Lake Calenhad with his arms outstretched, eyes closed, face to the sky, and just letting the rain wash over him. He'd forgotten just how good it felt to feel the wet on his skin. And the smell – Maker, the _smell_ – of the rain on the fresh earth and grass around him. Surely he'd have looked a fool to anyone who might have been out in that weather, but it was a moment he would always remember. It's amazing how quickly one could forget what it feels like just to be outside, with no walls or roof between them and the world. It was that feeling he'd keep chasing no matter how many damned times they locked him up.

As for analyzing his previous escape, Anders quickly concluded that spending three consecutive nights at the brothel in one of Ferelden's largest cities had definitely been his mistake. Next time, if he ended up in Denerim, he'd only spend one night before moving on. Besides, running out of what little money he could get was something he desperately needed to avoid, given his complete lack of experience in the wilderness beyond a few shivering nights he'd rather not experience again. Still, even those were better than a warm, comfortable night in the prison they called the Circle.

He thought of his notebook, the one he kept hidden from the Templars despite trying to disguise it as study notes. Most times when he was supposed to be studying magical theory, he would look through whatever history books he could find, preferably ones with illustrations. From there, he'd make a note of all the locations that piqued his interest in his notebook, entering them in code. Then, later on, he would read it over and over again, committing each one to memory. All of those places were ones he planned to visit when he was finally free. Some were in Ferelden, and he'd even managed to see a few of those. The rest were spread all across Thedas, from Orlais to Nevarra to Rivain to everywhere else. Anders recited the list in his head, smiling softly at how easily it came to him.

A sudden wave of exhaustion began to overwhelm him and interrupted his recitation. It had been late when he and his escort had arrived at the tower, and his body was calling for sleep. He lay down on the thin piece of cloth that passed for a cot and continued to recite his list as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Day 2

Anders awoke with a start at the little window within the door clattering loudly as the shutter was slid open. Gauntleted hands placed a tray with food inside his cell before abruptly sliding the window shut again. He blinked a few times, trying to stop the stinging in his eyes from the sudden brightness. He yawned, and stretched his whole body. All things considered, he hadn't slept terribly. The scratchiness of his tunic continued to irritate him, but he'd been exhausted enough that it hadn't kept him awake. It was such a small thing, but after years of soft, flowing robes, he couldn't help but notice the stiffness of the fabric. He ate his breakfast, some stale bread and over-ripened fruit, and washed it down with the meager cup of water provided.

Anders sighed heavily. This was always the worst part of the punishment. It was easy to deal with sensory deprivation and solitude when unconscious, but one could only sleep for so long. He recited his list of locations again, but found he had no trouble remembering them. His cell didn't have much room, but his previous time spent in the dungeons had left him with some knowledge of how to pass the time.

He started with exercise. Mages weren't nearly as physically strong as the average warrior or rogue, but some fitness was necessary for quality spell casting and staff-wielding. Anders was also on the stronger side of mages considering his time spent running away from the Templars. Some of his escape attempts had even failed because his arms or some other muscle had decided to give out at a poor time. Once he remembered climbing a tree just before a group of Templars would've discovered him. Considering his phylactery showed them he was nearby, they were sure to search the entire area before moving on. Just before they decided to check somewhere else, he lost his grip and fell literally right on top of one. Sure, it was funny looking back, but if he'd been just a bit stronger, he may have been able to get away. Since then, he'd spent a lot more time working on his body, and not solely because it helped pass the time.

Anders removed his tunic, despite the slight chill, hoping to keep it dry. He started with push ups, pleased to feel the gentle straining in his arms. He reached twenty before flipping onto his back to work his abdomen. After a few sets of twenty working different body parts, he was soaked with sweat and was starting to feel the familiar burn in his muscles. It felt nice, and he continued the routine until he was beginning to risk injuring himself.

He stretched slowly to loosen his now-tight muscles, before sitting with his bare back against the cool stone wall to rest. He closed his eyes against the near-darkness and filled his mind with visions of the outside world. One thing he dreamed of was being on a ship. Not the kind of boat that travelled from the shore to the Circle tower, but on a real ship in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. The ocean had always appealed to him, and he'd seen it briefly from Denerim, but after hearing that girl at The Pearl talk about it, he knew that was something he'd have to add to his list. The way she described it, and the freedom it entailed, enthralled him. He could so easily see himself sailing on such a ship, heading in no particular direction, with the waves gently rocking it. It was a beautiful sight.

Another thing he wanted to experience was feeling the first snowfall of the season. When he was young, before he'd been taken to the Circle, he'd lived in the Anderfels – his namesake. Well, not really, but rather his _chosen_ namesake. It was far too hot there for snow and the winters usually involved dust storms instead. He remembered being thrilled seeing snow for the first time after coming to Ferelden, and begging the Enchanter watching him and the other apprentices his age to go outside and see it. It hadn't worked. His small amount of time outside the tower had allowed him to experience snow firsthand, but he just knew there had to be something magical about feeling it for the first time that winter. Most of the time, he found out it had snowed a few days prior from one of the older mages who actually had a window in their quarters. It didn't hold the same appeal.

There were lots of things he dreamed of, and which was the one he most looked forward to changed almost daily. These dreams were what kept Anders strong throughout everything. Every failed escape, every trip back to the tower after a successful one, every bruise from a Templar who took it too far, every fellow mage he'd seen with tears in their eyes after being gone with a Templar for almost long enough for others to get suspicious. No matter how many abuses he faced, or how many he witnessed and subsequently feared, it was these dreams that kept him from giving into despair. It was these dreams that kept him from finally losing it and going on some suicidal rampage to try to kill every Templar in the tower. It was these dreams that gave him hope when he had no right to have any. The Templars tried their best to take everything they could from him, but they would never be able to take this.

Anders' thoughts of hope and defiance were broken by the window being slid open once again and his evening meal being placed in the cell. The guard also removed the tray from his breakfast before closing the window. A room-temperature, partially congealed stew awaited him, as well as more bread and water. It was only now that his stomach growled loudly, making him realize just how hungry he was. He made a mental note as he ate to slow down a bit on the exercise if this was all the water he was going to get in a day. The food wasn't great, but he'd take what he could get. He'd only be here for a few more days at most anyways.

The rest of the evening was spent practicing basic spells. Anders didn't want to exert himself too much, but daydreaming only entertained him for so long. He conjured a lick of flame and held it in his hand, finally having some real light. It always surprised him how much the darkness really affected him even after only a day. As long as he didn't try any flashy magic, he'd probably be able to keep it burning for most of the next day. Perhaps he'd learn to juggle it, and then add more fireballs. That'd be sure to impress. After deciding that was an excellent way to spend the next day in this cell, Anders let the fire die and began to try to sleep. Fortunately, it didn't take long before he was dreaming of all those sights he swore he'd see one day.


	3. Day 6

The isolation was beginning to weigh on Anders. After six days, he found himself trying to talk to the Templar that brought him his morning meal. To his credit, it wasn't even a snarky comment, but a pleasant greeting. The lack of acknowledgement frustrated him more than he wanted to admit, and he slammed his fist into the door. Still, he received no response. He almost didn't eat out of stubbornness, but he hadn't been fed the previous night, so he couldn't deny the potent emptiness in his stomach.

Six bloody days. That meant he would be getting out today. They never left anyone in the dungeons as long as a week. It wasn't the first time he'd been locked up, and it wasn't as if he was the only one who ever ended up down here. Sure, he may hold the record for most escapes, but there were regulations. Besides, the First Enchanter's insistence it was simply 'teenage rebellion' had always been good enough for the Templars. It wasn't exactly support, but he'd take it.

The mage sat with his eyes closed and pouted, trying to keep his emotions in check. He'd only be here for a little while longer, and then he could get on with planning his next, and hopefully final, escape. Anders just needed to distract himself until then. He'd long since run out of ways to entertain himself, and staring off into the dark was a good way to go mad. He went back to daydreaming.

A small scraping noise broke his concentration. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, suddenly afraid for some reason he couldn't name. He noticed the shutter covering his window was wiggling. Anders crawled over and saw that it was slowly, clumsily opening. Obviously it wasn't a Templar. On the off chance it was another mage breaking the rules to come talk to him, though he didn't know who would take such a risk just for him, they certainly wouldn't make that much noise. Instinctively, he reached for his magic, preparing to defend himself from whatever hid beyond the door.

When the little window opened, however, he heard a small meow. His eyes were still adjusting to the sudden, comparatively harsh light, but he saw what he thought was a cat crawling through.

"Mr. Wiggums? What are you doing in here?" he whispered as the cat came up to rub its face on his leg.

Anders gently stroked the cat as it purred and leaned into his touch. The tower's mouser must have been smarter than anyone knew if he managed to break into the dungeon to visit prisoners. Mr. Wiggums had always liked Anders, though he didn't know why. At the moment he was just happy to have the company. He hadn't realized how much he missed something as simple as physical contact with something alive. Sure, it would have been better if it was a person, but he'd take a cat over no one any day.

Anders spent the afternoon playing with the cat, managing to pull a string from his trousers to dangle for him. The time passed quickly, for which the mage was grateful. Mr. Wiggums must have heard the Templar coming before Anders did, however, as he perked up and leapt out the little window mere moments before the guard arrived. The Templar stopped in front of the door for a moment, obviously confused as to why the shutter was open. He then leaned down and looked at Anders through his helmet.

"Hey, mage, did you open this?" he demanded.

"Of course, and I was just about to turn into a mouse and scurry out before you came here and foiled my dastardly plan." Anders retorted, finding he hadn't lost his usual sarcasm.

The guard on the other side of the door stared at him, and though Anders couldn't see his face through his helm, he could feel the annoyed glare. The mage rolled his eyes.

"Come on, where's your sense of humour? You and I both know I couldn't have. The guard from this morning forgot to close it." Anders said, deciding it best not to mention his temporary companion.

The Templar stared for a few minutes more, contemplating the answer, before shrugging and placing his dinner inside the cell. He then went to close the shutter, but Anders reached out to grab it before he could finish.

"Wait, aren't you letting me out yet? It's been six days. That's the limit, isn't it?" He asked, sounding more desperate than he would have liked.

The guard snorted. "Technically, yes. But you'll be staying for a while yet. You've been a pain in the ass for long enough."

Before Anders could respond, the guard slammed the window shut, nearly crushing his fingers in the process. He sat there for a moment, stunned, trying to process what he'd just heard. It didn't sound like they were planning to release him. But they had to, right? This was all just a trick, to scare out his 'rebellious streak'. That must have been it.

_Yes, that must be what they're doing. They'll probably let me out tomorrow, hoping that little comment would set me straight. They have to. _He thought, trying to keep out the flicker of doubt creeping into his mind.

He ate his meal, and found himself far more tired than usual, concluding it was probably just from being in here for so long. If he went to sleep early, then morning would come sooner, and then his release would come sooner. Anders could hardly wait to be out of this damned cell.


	4. Day 10

It had been four days since the guard had spoken to him, and Anders awoke with the unshakeable feeling he was being watched. In his mind, he knew there was nothing in the cell with him. Yet he could feel the eyes on him, the stare nearly piercing through him. Worse yet, he swore he could see a face on the edges of his vision. When he turned to look at it, it was gone, but that only made the paranoia worse. The face was pale and sinister looking. It didn't even have a body but he was certain it was there, only when he wasn't looking.

He called on his fire again, holding it in his hand and relaxing a bit. As long as he had light, he was safe. It was only in the dark that the fear came, and he was going to stave it off for as long as he could. Anders knew how irrational he was being, but knowing wasn't enough to make it stop. He wished Mr. Wiggums would return, but he hadn't seen the cat since the initial visit a few days ago. Having the company would certainly help. He scratched at his neck, once again cursing the prickling feeling of the rags on his skin.

Anders had become increasingly concerned as the days dragged on. Why was he still in this cell? He should've been released days ago. Were they waiting for him to break, to beg them to let him out? Was the plan just to leave him here forever? Until he went mad, or died of malnutrition? There's no way the First Enchanter would stand for that. Did Irving even know he was in here? Had the Templars managed to hide him somehow? It didn't seem likely, but the fact that he was still here seemed to prove otherwise. Despite his disruptive tendencies, Irving had never been terribly hard on him.

Anders felt the anger rising inside of him. He was not going to just sit here and waste away. He was not going to let them forget him. He was more than that, more than just some inconvenience to be overlooked. For his entire life, the Templars had tried to erase him, who he was, what he thought, and replace it with their own views. They had failed at every turn, so now their solution was to erase him entirely? He would not stand for it. The flame in his hand grew, and he found himself standing. He let the fire grow until it was a swirling inferno, and he released it on the door. He followed with more fire, then ice, and then fire again. His magic crashed again and again against the door, rocking it on its hinges, but otherwise doing no harm.

He continued, no longer able to swallow his rage, until his strength left him. Dizzy, he fell to his knees and stared at the door, seeing no damage aside from a few singes and scuffs. His anger expended, he felt tears burn his eyes. The hope he had so desperately clung on to, the dreams he had, that had held him strong until now offered no comfort. When no Templars came even to investigate the noise, he felt the tears spill over. He wept openly, unable to hold it inside any longer, as he realized he may never leave this cell.

That night was the worst one yet. After expending all of his mana trying to break down the door, the one he had known was enchanted to resist such attacks, he was unable to conjure a flame to keep him safe from the face on the edges of his mind. He slept in fits, waking at every sound, real or imagined. Eventually, blessedly, his fatigue took over.


	5. Day 31

This was the first day the demons came in earnest. Being a spirit healer, Anders was particularly good at dealing with the denizens of the Fade, and knowing which ones to avoid. Temptation from demons was something all mages faced, and he knew very well how to resist in normal circumstances. However, these were not normal circumstances.

Anders had lost a fair bit of weight since being placed in the dungeon. He'd stopped exercising when he realized he wasn't going to be given full rations, opting for gentle pacing or humming a tune to keep himself busy, but he'd still lost a lot of his muscle tone. He was thinner than he could ever remember being, and it only took a small amount of pressure to feel his ribs. Standing up too quickly would render him dizzy, and he found he was sleeping more and more. Though he would have initially described the cell as chilly, it now felt constantly cold, only a few degrees away from making his teeth chatter. The hallucinations were still there, but less frequent. It seemed his mind had found more important things to worry about. He was also beginning to have trouble remembering how long he'd been imprisoned. All of that was bad enough on its own without the calls of malicious spirits.

It started with whispers of revenge and retribution, visions of Templars dying being forced into his mind. He recognized this as the offers of a demon of rage, and forced them out, flat-out refusing. Becoming an abomination would certainly be a route to revenge, but that might even be what the Templars were hoping for. If he did, they'd finally have a reason to kill him. All of this torture could be an indirect way to force him into such an agreement. It sounded a little paranoid and convoluted, even to Anders, but even the slightest chance of it being true gave him another reason not to give in. He was not going to give those bastards what they wanted, not ever.

The demons kept pestering him and he did his best to block them out, ignoring voices of people he knew were not present, people he knew didn't really care about him. Hoping for a distraction, the mage conjured another flame, passing it gently from hand to hand. Mr. Wiggums had visited him the previous day (at least, he thought it was the previous day), and Anders wished he'd return again today. It was easier to fight the demons' enticing offers when he had a friend to interact with. When he'd started referring to the cat as a friend, Anders wasn't sure, but it no longer bothered him. If he ever got out of this, he'd be sure to find a way to give Mr. Wiggums a fish or some other treat. His only companion deserved it for keeping him sane.

He continued to play with his small flame, careful not exert himself in his weakened state. Focusing on that made it easier to ignore the whisperings of those that hunted him. Realizing they weren't going stop, he sent a pulse of mana over himself. Maintaining the shield would end up costing him more than he wanted, but at least he could have some peace, even if it was only temporary.

As Anders started to tire, he let down his barrier and waited. The whispers seemed to have ceased for the moment, so he took the opportunity to try to sleep. The walls he'd become accustomed to felt somehow smaller, as if he could feel them coming together to crush him. He screwed his eyes shut, telling himself it was only his imagination, and that if he just relaxed it would be okay. Sleep would come, and he could have a temporary escape. When he finally dozed off, however, his dreams only gave him more taunting visions of his captors burning, though he didn't know whether they came from his own desires, or those of the demons.


	6. Day 54

Anders awoke with a jump in a cold sweat. Mr. Wiggums, who had apparently come in during the night, jumped off of him and gave him an annoyed look before beginning to clean his fur. The demons had been invading Anders' dreams again. His head was pounding, and his heart started to race. He looked around frantically, eyes wide, struggling to breathe. No matter how many lungful's of air he took, it wasn't enough and he felt as though he was going to suffocate, the tiny cell not allowing him enough room to breathe. In his dream, the demons had been all around him, clawing at him and trying to drag him under. He'd run, though his legs wouldn't work properly. Too long without proper nourishment and without use; he may as well have been running on rolls of parchment. His knees buckled, and he remembered turning around in horror just as they descended on him, tearing him apart.

It had felt so real; the terror, the agony, the panic. But his cell remained empty, save for one frightened mage and one indifferent cat. He reached out to touch Mr. Wiggums' fur, slowly running his hand along the cat's body. It was long, soft, and real. Anders used that moment to ground himself. This was real. He was okay.

Just as Anders was beginning to calm down, the cat twitched, leaping out the small window a moment later. The sudden action spooked him, and he tried to push the fear back down.

_It's only a Templar, you know that. He always leaves before they come. You're alright. Just breathe._ Anders thought, the last four words becoming a far too common part of his life.

The Templars had apparently decided to ignore the fact that his window was often open when they arrived. Maybe they knew about his visitor and didn't care. Maybe they thought he had somehow managed to do it himself. Regardless, it wasn't something they questioned him about anymore. That removed the small amount of human interaction he actually had.

Anders crawled to the window and peered out, squinting into the light. He could see the wall opposite his cell, and a small amount of the passage on either side. He hadn't expected more, but after being trapped in this small room for so long the narrow hallway looked downright open. Footsteps coming from the right caught his attention, and he could see the Templar approaching.

The guard stopped in front of his door and looked at him for a moment, seeming surprised to see his captive looking back. Anders must have been quite a sight; thin, filthy, and haggard. His hair, unbound, had grown long and his stubble could likely be called a beard by now. But when that Templar looked into his eyes, what he would remember is the pure hate and defiance that stared back at him from that small, dark cage.


	7. Day 87

Anders' stay in the cell was approaching the three month mark. The intermittent company of the tower's mouser had likely been the only thing that'd kept him from completely losing it so far. At least, that's what he thought until he awoke to the sound of his door opening. He sat up, looking around blearily as he failed to blink the searing pain from his eyes. The hallway had seemed dim when they first brought him down here, but now the light was harsh and blinding. He was barely able to discern the outline of a Templar above him.

"Do you want to get out of here?" the Templar asked, with a feminine voice that was just a bit too smooth.

Anders just stared up at the armoured figure, hesitant to respond. Pride and suspicion warred with fear and misery. He tried to think of what the 'correct' answer was, and why he was even being asked. The light from the hall outside continued to burn his retinas, and he found himself unable to keep up his resistance.

"Y-yes." he replied, his voice shaky and hoarse from disuse.

"Good. For me to give you that, you must do exactly what I say." the Templar responded, sounding almost smug.

The mage swallowed hard, and repressed the automatic urge to disobey. He'd been aching for this for so long. He was willing to do anything.

"Wh-What do you need me to do?" he asked carefully, his wariness creeping out.

The Templar made a small humming noise, and Anders was sure that if he could see her face she'd be smirking. His stomach dropped. There was no way this was going anywhere good.

The Templar stepped forward, getting too close. Anders stood, taking a step back to put some distance between them. The Templar didn't move to close the gap, but removed her helmet, revealing a woman's face he'd never seen before. She had long, luxurious black hair and green eyes. Her skin was like porcelain, unmarked by a single blemish, and her full lips smirked playfully at him. She was too beautiful. How had he never seen this woman before?

Her pretty mouth twisted into a predatory smile as she took another step forward. Her movements were fluid; a stride he'd expect more from a courtesan than a Templar. Something wasn't right.

She leaned in close to him, her gaze locked with his. "You must give yourself to me." she whispered.

Anders retreated another step and found his back pressed against the wall. For some reason, he was finding it hard to gather his thoughts. He was supposed to respond, and something inside of him was urging him to say yes, to agree, to do whatever this beautiful creature asked of him. What had the request even been? His mind was too fogged for him to remember. All he could focus on was the beautiful Templar standing before him, and the burning light beyond.

The Templar took another half step towards him, and he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. Her unblinking stare remained fixed on his. He tried to think, but all that came to mind was how she smelled like fresh spring flowers. The words were on his lips when she interrupted.

"You must give in. I know you desire freedom, and I can give it to you. All you dream of will be yours if you simply say yes." the Templar purred, her voice like velvet.

All at once Anders understood what was happening. He snapped from his trance and pushed her away with both hands. The simple action took almost all of his willpower. She scowled, before switching to an expression of hurt and rejection. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"I know what you are, _demon_! Be gone from here, for I will not be your prey!" he shouted hoarsely, instinctively calling magic to his fingers.

And just like that, the Templar and the light vanished. For a mere instant, he swore he saw the demon's true form, the one with horns and hair of flame. When she disappeared, however, he realized that none of it had been real. His door remained firmly locked, and all he had just experienced had been entirely in his mind.

Anders collapsed onto his knees and held his head in his hands. He'd been so close to giving in. If she'd simply waited for him to respond instead of getting eager, he would have been an abomination. He screamed, the agonized sound ripping from his throat. This was _their_ fault! The Templars claimed they were there to protect mages from themselves, and yet they were basically throwing him into the demons' waiting arms. No matter what he'd done, he knew he didn't deserve this. No one did. He'd already sworn he wouldn't give them what they want, that he wouldn't give in no matter how long he was here.

And yet, in his heart, he could feel his own weakness. He may have managed to resist this time, but to be so close to giving in to temptation before realizing his mistake was a sobering experience. He would have to be vigilant. To think he could be controlled so easily… The idea made him sick. He was stronger than that. He was not going to let this break him. He'd worked so hard not to doubt himself, not to blame himself for being cursed with magic, to see it as a blessing instead, but his confidence was shaken.

"I will not break." Anders declared out loud through gritted teeth, though the words sounded empty when they echoed back to him.


	8. Day 153

Sleep had eluded him that night. Had it been night? Anders didn't even know anymore. He was curled at the back of his cell, as far away from the door as he could get. In lieu of rest, he had heard a number of disturbing sounds. He heard screams, and the pounding of gauntleted fists on flesh. He'd banged on his door, shouting, trying to get whatever was happening to stop. When that failed, he'd curled himself into the smallest, tightest ball he could and covered his ears in the hopes of blocking it out. As he lay there, whimpering, saying silent prayers for it all to end, a more disturbing thought had come to him.

What lucidity he retained told him the sounds weren't real, that there was no way they could carry through the thick walls of the dungeon. Either this was the work of yet another demon, or he was imagining things again. Both of those thoughts filled him with dread, and he couldn't decide which was worse. At some point, whispering 'It's not real, it's not real…' over and over to himself had actually worked and the phantom violence had disappeared. That had been what felt like hours ago, and Anders had been unable to force himself to move from his curled up position for fear of it starting again. As he lay there, gently rocking himself, he heard footsteps approaching.

Caught between terror and desperation, he froze. Was it the morning Templar coming to feed him? Or was it something else? Was it even real? Slowly, tentatively, he began crawling towards the door. He jumped back as the shutter slid open and familiar gauntleted hands holding a tray reached in.

As the Templar placed the tray in his cell, Anders snatched one of their hands, holding on for dear life. The Templar, clearly shocked, froze for a moment, likely assessing the threat.

"Please… You can let me out now. I'll be good. I won't try to escape again, I promise." he pleaded, not even trying to hide how pathetic he sounded.

The Templar remained silent, just staring. Without warning, they tried to pull their hand back through the window.

"Please! You have to let me out! I'll do anything you ask! Just, please, don't leave me in here!" Anders begged, feeling a lump build in his throat.

"Let go of me!" the Templar demanded, yanking their arm out of the mages' weak clutches.

Before Anders could do anything else, the little window was slammed shut. He shoved the tray out of the way, his meal hitting the ground, and began pounding on the iron door. A howl tore itself from his throat, and tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks.

"LET ME OUT! I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!" he cried, over and over again.

He kept going like that, shouting, crying, and bashing, hoping beyond hope that someone, anyone would hear his pleas and take him away from all of this.

What felt like hours later, Anders was slumped against the wall of his cell. His throat was raw, his eyes felt like they were on fire, and his fists were bloodied. He just sat there, expended and numb, staring at that blasted door in the dark of his cell. He hadn't used any magic, so he could've healed himself, but he liked the way the scrapes stung. The pain kept him grounded in the real world, distracting him from the horrors his mind was bestowing on him.

He remained that way until he heard the cover to the window rattling again. His hands had stopped stinging, so he dug his long nails into his arms, feeling them pierce the first few layers of skin and drawing blood. He shuddered, finding a strange ecstasy in the pain. More importantly, however, the sound didn't stop so he knew it was real. Moments later, Mr. Wiggums hopped into his cell. The cat sniffed at his discarded breakfast, then came to rub his head on Anders' knee. He petted the mouser's head, managing a small smile. He then lay down on his side, and the cat curled up in the crook between his stomach and his legs, purring softly. Anders closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of his friend. Before long, he'd drifted into sleep, making up for the night he missed. For once, he dreamed of cats instead of demons.


	9. Day ?

Anders no longer had any concept of the days that passed. The lack of proper nutrition had taken so much out of his body that he found it hard to stay conscious most of the time. When he was awake, his bones shook from the cold and the darkness played tricks on his mind. He saw snarling teeth in the shadows, and gaping maws looking to devour him. At first he lashed out against them, shooting some fire only to have the illusion dispelled. After weeks of that torment, he no longer cared if they were real or not. He fantasized about death, as it was the only escape he could see. If only he had something sharp, he would've done it himself.

It also seemed as though the demons had either given up on him, or he was refusing them without even trying. Perhaps it was his apathy that was keeping them from targeting him. Demons feasted on strong emotions, so Anders' lack thereof may have inadvertently kept him safe from their bargains. At this point though, he probably would've agreed if it meant it would finally be over.

Hope of escaping this cell had long since abandoned him. He thought back to his desperation when he'd begged his jailer to please, please just let him out and wondered why he ever thought that'd work. It was obvious he was meant to die here, and that it was meant to be slow. There was no other explanation. Perhaps they'd counted on him becoming an abomination earlier, but that plan had failed. If that was the case, they'd have no reason to still detain him. And yet, his imprisonment continued.

Anders had even stopped eating for a time, hoping he could just waste away. Unfortunately, he didn't have quite enough willpower to stick with it. After what might have been a week, he found himself devouring whatever they gave him. He wondered briefly if the Templars had known he was starving himself and given him more appetizing food in response. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

He found himself slipping into the strange half-sleep that he'd become so accustomed to. He no longer fought it. It wasn't so bad, living in the world between waking and dreaming.


	10. Chapter 10

"172, 173, 174…" Anders droned as he counted the bricks in his cell.

He'd counted them before, more than once. There were 467 bricks surrounding him. Those 467 bricks were his entire world, plus the solid stone floor and roof. He spent his waking hours counting them, over and over again. The steady, repetitive task kept him from lapsing into full delirium. If he stopped for too long, he'd find himself somewhere else. Sometimes it was a pleasant diversion, such as standing on a rocky shore as the ocean waves crashed all around him. But most times it was something far more threatening or painful. His mind had become particularly good at simulating all sorts of unpleasant experiences, such as being beaten and raped by a Templar.

"212, 213, 214…" he continued, trying to block out anything but the numbers.

If he just kept counting, he'd be safe. No one would hurt him, no demons could get him, and the madness wouldn't take him. When he stopped counting, the visions came back. They weren't real, but the bricks were. All he had to do to stay real was focus on the bricks.

"289, 290, 291…"


	11. Chapter 11

Anders had slipped comfortably into delusion. He no longer tried to fight it, long ago abandoning his obsessive counting. His moments of clarity were becoming rarer, usually only in the presence of his feline visitor. For the moment, he found himself annoyingly lucid. Slumped at the back of his cell, he watched the door with disinterest.

Faintly, he could hear hurried footsteps, as if someone was running towards his door. He dismissed it as anything worthy of attention, assuming it was simply a hallucination. At least until the small window opened, sliding quieter than it ever had before. He shut his eyes against the harsh light until the shutter quickly slid closed. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a small, rectangular object on the floor of his cell. The sound of running returned, now leading away.

Anders stared at the object indifferently, wondering when it would disappear. Surely, this was just another illusion. When it remained, he slowly crawled over to take a closer look. The movements were difficult, what was left of his muscles aching from disuse. Gingerly, he reached his hand towards it, expecting it to dissipate at his touch.

The object felt solid. He ran his fingers over it deliberately, methodically, marvelling at the smoothness. He'd felt this material before. It was… Maker, why was it so hard to remember? It was made from specially processed hide… Leather! That's what it was! The object was made of leather. Anders found himself stroking it, unsure what to do with this mysterious item.

Hesitantly, he picked it up. Anders had long since given up on being able to see properly in the dark of his cell, yet now he found himself wishing for more light. He inspected the item, quickly discovering that only the outside was made of leather. Flipping the cover open, he found another material within. Many thin, pale sheets lay within, most of which had dark patterns on them. Unable to discern the patterns, he furrowed his brow. He'd seen such an object before, but he couldn't remember what they were used for.

After some contemplation, he realized it was a book. One could read them to learn information. But why had he been given a book? Didn't whomever had dropped it here know it was dark? What information could he learn from it that could possibly be useful to him?

Anders spent too long futilely trying to read the patterns he now knew were words before he remembered his magic. He'd almost forgotten he could even use it at all, like so many other basic things he couldn't seem to remember how to do, yet he found it came to him as easily as it ever had. He conjured a small flame in one hand, taking care to keep it away from the flammable pages.

At first, he found it difficult to make sense of the swirls before him. It had been so long since he'd had to read anything, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd forgotten how. He continued to study the swirls, and, slowly, they began to make sense. It appeared to be notes on the basics of magical theory.

_But why would anyone give me this? _Anders thought. He didn't understand. He knew all about magical theory. It wasn't exactly something you could avoid learning when you lived in the Circle.

As he continued to read, he found he had more of a grip on reality than he'd had in some time. Perhaps that was the purpose of the book? That didn't seem right. Only his captors could know how far gone he truly was, and it obviously hadn't been a Templar who'd dropped it off, for they wouldn't have felt the need to run. He looked closer at the writing. There was something so familiar about it…

_Wait… This is my writing._ The realization came suddenly. He had written this. Anders looked closer, reading the sentences more carefully now. The grammar was off. Not enough that most would notice, but it didn't match the way he would have written it. Did he even know anymore how he would have? Perhaps not, but something told him it was wrong.

He continued to study the tome, determined to figure out what he was missing. He paused only to hide his prize from the Templar that came to bring him food. His jailer had peeked in, seeming surprised to see Anders so aware. Nonetheless, they left the meal without a word, just like always. As he ate, the mage continued to study.

It was then that he figured it out. All at once, so much of himself came back. This was the notebook where he'd listed all of the places he wanted to go once he was free. He'd written it in code to look like legitimate notes instead of the tiny rebellion it really was. It took him longer than he would've liked to actually decode it, since he hadn't written down what the code was. After all, that would defeat the purpose of encrypting it in the first place.

As Anders read, he felt himself smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, but it was a good feeling. His hope was tempered somewhat by the nagging feeling that he was never going to leave the cell and actually see these places, but it gave him something to hold on to, to dream about. For the moment, that was enough. It wasn't a terribly short list, and before long exhaustion overtook him, and he dreamed he was at sea.


	12. Chapter 12

When Anders awoke, he felt more rested than he had in a long time. Eagerly, he summoned a flame and continued his reading, picking up where he'd dozed off. He found himself captivated by simply reading about all these places and their descriptions. Some were specific cities or geographical features, while others were more generic. As he read through a list of Tevinter settlements, he started to envision what it would be like to live in a place where mages were free. Admittedly, he didn't know much about the Imperium save for the part where they were heretics, rejecting Chantry teachings and warping them to serve their own purposes. Beyond that, all he knew is it was a land where mages ruled, praised for their powers instead of hated and feared. If only he'd been born there instead of his homeland.

Anders quickly reached the end of his list. Suddenly distraught, he turned the pages frantically, hoping to find something else.

"No… That can't be all… There must be more." he muttered out loud, ignoring how rough his voice was.

He didn't want to be finished. If it was over, that meant all he had left was to read it again, until the madness took hold once more. That scared him. Though he'd become quite used to it before the book had arrived, the prospect of returning terrified him. A small, strangled cry escaped his lips.

Anders desperately flipped through the empty pages until he'd reached the end of the book. Just as he was about to throw it across the cell in frustration, he noticed there was a small note. The handwriting was different, and it wasn't written in code either. He considered the note for a moment, strangely nervous to read it. Perhaps it was from whoever had given him the book? He took a deep breath.

_Anders,_

_I'm not sure if this will reach you, but I've done all I can to make sure it does. We've only just heard what they've done to you. The First Enchanter hid it from us, but now he's working to get you out. The Templars aren't giving ground, but we're putting pressure on them as best we can. I'm so sorry. Please hold on. May this help keep your hope alive._

_Karl_

Anders leaned back, stunned by what he'd just read. The First Enchanter had hid this from the other mages? Irving was alright with this? Emotions passed through him, too fast for him to hold onto any of them. He'd spent so long numb that he no longer knew how to feel. He wanted to be angry, but part of him knew it probably hadn't been the First Enchanter's choice. The Templars had likely forced him into it, and into keeping Anders' imprisonment secret.

And then there was Karl. Karl, the first man Anders had ever been with, the man whose feelings he'd rejected with some excuse he could no longer fully remember, the man who now sent him a message despite how poorly their last conversation had gone.

Anders thought back to that moment. They'd met in one of their secret spots, and Anders had greeted him with a kiss. Before his lips began wandering elsewhere, Karl stopped him, saying there was something he needed to say first. Then he confessed his feelings to Anders, confessed that he thought of him as more than just a source of comfort when it was needed. Anders had been startled, to say the least. Love wasn't something you could have in the Circle. Sex, sure, if you were careful, but not love. If you fell in love, you'd get sloppy. The Templars would find out, and you'd be separated. That's how it always went. Love wasn't something they were allowed to have, so it was best just to never let himself fall for anyone to avoid that loss.

That wasn't the whole of it, either. Anders may not have known what love truly was, but whenever people talked about it, it was always between a man and a woman. He'd always told himself sleeping with men was just another way for him to reject his teachings and nothing more. Part of him had always known that wasn't true, but despite his rebellious streak, he did want to be normal. He'd wished so many times that he hadn't been born a mage, that he could've lived an ordinary life without constantly being watched. Denying the part of him that was obviously attracted to men let him fool himself into thinking that at least he had something that wasn't beyond the norm. Looking back on those feelings, it all seemed so stupid. When someone fell in love, they fell in love with a person, not a body. Why should it bother him if that body happened to match his own?

Yet when Anders had tried to explain to Karl that it was too dangerous, his questions about his sexuality suddenly forgotten, his tongue had become heavy. Instead, he'd said something about how he just didn't feel that way, and that it had always just been about the sex. He could still clearly see the hurt look on Karl's face, and a sharp pang of guilt followed. He couldn't admit it at the time, but all he'd wanted to do was say he felt the same. He couldn't say for sure if he loved Karl, but it was certainly something different from how he felt about anyone else. Only now did Anders realize this. After that conversation, he'd simply avoided the other mage, and slept with virtually anyone who was interested in an attempt to forget him. But now he wanted nothing more than to see Karl, to pull him close, and tell him he'd always felt the same, danger be damned.

But that couldn't happen, not until he got out of this cell at least. That was completely out of his control. Karl had already given him a gift he could never repay: he'd given Anders his hope back. With that hope, he'd pulled himself out of the madness that had held him for so long. He would persevere, not just to spite the Templars, but for himself and the man he may indeed love. Determined now, Anders flipped back to the beginning of the book and began reading it again, working to commit all those locations to memory once more. He could still feel the hopelessness that had consumed him before, scratching fervently at the back of his skull much like his abrasive clothes, but he pushed it down and buried himself in his fantasies.


	13. Chapter 13

_Come on, focus. You've just got to focus. Keep it together._ Anders thought, trying desperately to hold on to reality. It had been some time since the arrival of the notebook, and he found himself slipping again. The visions that had haunted him returned whenever he let his guard down, and he'd been targeted by demons more than once. Now he was on his knees, head in his shaking hands, fingers threaded through his hair just tight enough so it would hurt. Panic was beginning to set in.

"You've got to… hold on…" he said through gritted teeth.

It was so much more frightening to lose his mind after only just regaining it. His anger and resilience had returned, but he already knew how far he could slip. He tried to take comfort in the knowledge that the other mages were working on getting him out, but it wasn't as if he knew when that would be, or if they'd even succeed. He recited the list again in his head, it being his only link to the real world. He thought of Karl too, and that helped calm him.

How long had he been in here? Anders didn't know. Months, at least. It was hard to take. He didn't want to lose himself again, so he reached for his rage, letting it burn. He vowed that the Templars would never be able to do this to him again. One day, he'd be free, and he'd make sure no one could trap him again, not ever.


	14. Chapter 14

Mr. Wiggums had come to visit again. He sat, purring, in Anders' lap as he stroked the cat's fur. The situation was far more bearable when he had company, though the light spilling through open shutter still burned his eyes. He recited his list in his mind, trying to make sure he didn't forget it again.

Suddenly, Mr. Wiggums' ears perked up, and the cat leapt off his lap and out the window. Anders watched him go, confused. It wasn't time for him to be fed yet, was it? It felt too early. His friend only left when the Templars were coming, but maybe he'd just heard a mouse or something.

Heavy footsteps proved him wrong, and Anders' heart started to race. More than one Templar was coming. Maybe they were locking someone else up? Yes, that must have been it. They had no reason to come for him. Yet his mind conjured images of violence and torture. Despite what he'd been through, it could always get worse. Anders took a few deep breaths, steadying himself, and tucked his notebook into the back of his pants just in case.

Armoured legs stopped in front of the window, and he could hear the door being unlocked. Fear lanced through the mage as he shrunk into the corner of his cell. The door swung open, the sound grating his ears, and he shut his eyes against the sudden brightness. Just having the window open before had felt like staring directly into the sun, but it was so much worse with the entire door now splayed wide. One of the Templars stepped into his cell, and Anders jumped as the guard stopped in front of him. Squinting, he looked up at the armoured figure.

"Get up." said the guard.

Anders froze, still staring up at his captor. What was happening? Had they come down here to do something worse to him? Hadn't they done enough already?

"I said, get up!" the guard demanded, louder this time.

Anders shrank back instinctively, trying to look as small as possible. He didn't understand what was happening, but he was terrified. The guard looked as though they were about to physically grab him when they were interrupted.

"Let me handle this." A familiar voice said from beyond the open door.

Moments later, a robed figure joined them in the cell. Anders peered at the new visitor and recognized it as First Enchanter Irving. His eyes widened despite the harsh glare. Anders glanced between the two of them, confused. He suddenly felt even more claustrophobic with so many people in the small space.

The First Enchanter crouched down with a groan to put himself at Anders' level. Anders jumped further back into the wall, frightened of the closeness.

"It's alright, son. You're leaving this place today. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Irving said carefully, trying to gauge Anders' reaction.

Anders just stared at him with disbelief. He was finally leaving? After all this time? Part of him was angry. Irving had let him rot in here, not doing anything about it until the other mages found out. Anders wanted to scream at him, to strike him, to hurt him as he'd been hurt for allowing this to continue.

But instead, he just looked up and nodded, first hesitantly, and then with fervour.

Irving smiled at him, and reached out a hand before saying, "Good. Come on then, let's get you out of here."

Anders looked at the outstretched hand in front of him for a moment before grabbing on to it like a drowning man gasping for air. Irving gently helped him up, allowing Anders to lean on him for support. It'd been so long since he'd walked anywhere that his legs didn't seem to remember how.

As they left the cell, the light seared Anders' eyes. He immediately flinched away from it as the Templars closed the door behind him. Irving patiently waited until Anders was ready to continue their trip away from the dungeons. Squinting, Anders took in his surroundings.

The once-cramped halls seemed absolutely spacious compared to his prison. As they carefully moved up the steps, he stumbled more than once and the First Enchanter caught him. The fury he'd felt for the man earlier was gone, and for the moment he was simply thankful for the help. Anders wondered briefly how long it would be before he was fully functional again. He quickly decided he didn't want to know the answer.

The walk went on for what felt like an eternity. Every muscle in Anders' legs burned despite the slow pace. The Templar escort had abandoned them once they'd left the dungeons and Irving insisted he could handle it. Anders, panting hard, stumbled again and gestured for the First Enchanter to stop. He took a moment to catch his breath.

"How… Long?" Anders asked with difficulty.

Irving looked puzzled before guilt coloured his expression. He looked away, as if not wanting to meet the younger mage's eyes.

"A year." he said flatly.

Anders reeled. He'd been left in there for _a year?!_ That was bloody barbaric, even by Templar standards. Anger flared within him again, but he swallowed it.

"…Why?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Irving stared at the ground before responding, "Greagoir wanted to teach you a lesson. He told me to keep quiet and not to interfere, that he'd decide when it had been enough. Eventually I couldn't stand it any longer, and let it slip to the rest of the Circle. After some unrest, he finally relented."

Irving paused for a moment, and Anders didn't know what to say. He knew even the First Enchanter couldn't overrule the Knight-Commander, but that didn't excuse it. Nothing could excuse what they'd done to him.

Irving looked him straight in the eyes before continuing, "I'm sorry, son. I should've done more and I knew it. I didn't really believe they'd leave you there that long."

"I understand." Anders lied, his own gaze now fixed on the ground.

He didn't have the will to be angry anymore. He just wanted to get this endless walk over with and to get away from the man who had failed him so severely. Irving thought for a moment, and nodded before they continued on. Anders had to grit his teeth as every step sent a wave of pain lancing through his legs.

Finally, blessedly, after far too many stairs, they reached the mages' quarters. Anders looked at the high ceiling and his head spun, unable to comprehend the staggering height. Had the room always been this big? It was empty once again, but he hadn't the energy to be worried this time. Perhaps it had been a favour, to give him some time to adjust.

The First Enchanter planted him in front of a looking glass and went to fetch a wash basin. Anders stared at the figure gazing back at him, or should he say _through_ him. He couldn't even recognize the face he saw there, gaunt and pale, with dark circles under sunken eyes. His hair was long and scraggly, his beard equally unkempt. His cheekbones were too visible, looking almost as though they were going to slice through his skin. He delicately touched his cheek, almost expecting the man in the mirror not to copy the movement.

Irving returned, placing the wash basin in front of him. Anders glanced up, and nodded his gratitude before the First Enchanter left him to it. He washed himself, almost absentmindedly. He couldn't believe this was really happening, that it was real. It felt like a dream, and he was terrified he'd wake up back in his cell. He shuddered, and dug his nails into his arms. Delicious pain, but the world didn't fade. He didn't wake up, or come out of a hallucination. He remained right there, at the wash basin, and not in his cell.

Without realizing it, Anders found himself staring at the near-skeletal form in the mirror before him. Pale skin stretched over sharp bones, ribs nearly jutting through. His waist dipped in alarmingly far, and if it hadn't been his own body, the mage would have wondered how someone in such poor shape could still be alive. Realizing he'd been staring for too long, he forced himself to look down and focus on the task at hand.

He continued washing himself, somewhat disturbed by the amount of dirt coming off. He supposed it made sense though, considering he'd been in there for a year. He stopped.

_A year…_ It was still hard to process. A year locked away in the dark, completely alone. How had he survived that? Anders had read of soldiers going mad after a couple months. To be fair though, he had gone mad. He'd only snapped out of it because of his notebook.

At that thought, he pulled the book from the now-discarded clothes nearby, gently running his fingers over the cover. He'd have to take extra care in hiding it in the future. It was more than simply a list now.

After he'd finished bathing, the mage put on the fresh robe already laid out for him. The softness of the fabric sent a cold shiver down his spine. After all that time, he'd actually gotten used to the scratchy rags. Lastly, he picked up the blade provided and began to shave his beard to a more manageable length. He watched his reflection as the hairs fell. When he was done, he somehow looked even thinner and instantly regretted it. Inspecting himself further, Anders also noticed how the robes that used to fit him so well hung loosely from his frame. He sighed deeply. Why he was even so concerned with vanity at a time like this, he didn't know. Perhaps it was just because he looked half a corpse. After taking one last glance at the mirror, he began moving to his bed.

Walking without assistance was harder than he thought, but he swore he'd manage. He could see his destination, a bed just like all the others save for the embroidered pillow he kept on it. He'd made it halfway before he had to stop for a break, leaning against a nearby bunk and panting heavily.

After catching his breath, he heard the sound of quiet steps behind him just before he felt a hand on his shoulder. Anders spun, fast enough to make his head swim, putting his hands in front of his face in a defensive posture.

"It's alright, Anders. It's just me." Karl said calmly.

Anders exhaled, relieved, and relaxed. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He found himself staring over the other man's shoulder, detached, as Karl looked him over.

"Maker's breath, what did they do to you?" Karl finally said, sounding aghast.

Before Anders could respond, the other mage pulled him into a tight embrace. Anders first stiffened, unaccustomed to the physical contact, before relaxing and squeezing back as hard as he could. He relished the feeling of this warm body against his, amazed at how the closeness could feel so nice. He could feel his bones stabbing into Karl, but the man made no move to indicate discomfort. Even still, reluctantly, Anders forced himself to relax his grip a bit.

"Karl… Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable… I haven't exactly been this close to anyone in a while." Anders said, failing to keep his usually light tone.

Karl lifted his head to look at Anders. For some reason, the blonde man found it hard to meet his eyes. It was too intimate, too intense. Karl smiled kindly for a moment, likely for Anders' benefit, before his expression switched to one of concern.

"Anders, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I can't imagine what you went through in there. Are you alright? What exactly happened?" Karl inquired.

Anders let out a dark laugh. Did he bloody well look alright? He tried to chase his bitterness away and looked back at Karl. As he opened his mouth to explain, tears spilled from his eyes, and he found himself sobbing into the other man's shoulder, clutching desperately at his robes. To be in the same room with another person, to talk to them, to feel their touch; it was all too much. It'd been so long since he'd had the chance to do such things. He knew he probably seemed weak, breaking down like this over seemingly nothing. He'd never been the sensitive type before, and he absolutely hated feeling so vulnerable.

Yet Karl didn't say anything, and simply held him close, stroking his hair. When Anders had cried himself out, Karl helped guide him to the bed so they could sit. Anders then told Karl what had happened, that he'd been caught after escaping again and about his experiences in the cell. Despite his better judgement, he even mentioned the demons and the hallucinations, how he'd lost his mind until the book had been delivered.

"You can't possibly understand how much that helped. Thank you so much. I…" Anders trailed off, remembering his realization in the cell.

"You're welcome. I just… I wanted so much to get you out of there, but I knew that wasn't possible. I needed to do something, and that was all I could think of. After seeing you, hearing you talk about it, knowing the torture you faced… I wish I could've done more." Karl replied, his voice pained

"It was enough, Karl. Without that, I would've been too far gone by now for anyone to help me. I can only imagine the risk you took, but you saved me, whether you knew it or not." Anders said, his gaze travelling to the ground at the unsaid words.

Karl gently cupped his cheek, bringing Anders' face back towards his own before saying, "I had to do it. After finding out what they'd done to you… I couldn't bear it. I care about you too much…"

It was then Karl's turn to trail off and look away. Anders cursed himself at his inability to deal with his feelings. He'd hesitated the last time, and he wasn't going to do it again. He told himself he was already being uncharacteristically serious, so now was as good a time as any.

"I realized something in there, Karl." Anders paused, having trouble forming the words. "I was wrong. I trust you… and I do have feelings for you. I didn't… I was too scared to admit it before."

He then took Karl's face in his hands and looked straight into his eyes.

"I'm not afraid anymore. They've broken me once, and they will _never_ do it again. I swear to you, I will never let those Templar bastards take you from me." he said, taking comfort in the strength of his own words.

Karl gawked at him, obviously shocked at the sudden admission, before smiling broadly. He pulled Anders in close again, gently kissing the top of his head. Anders smiled back, enjoying the moment. As the two men held each other, Anders could feel the fire he'd always had inside return. He would escape again, and this time it would be final. Then he could find a way to save Karl too, and they'd find somewhere safe from the hunters, somewhere they could stay and pretend the Circle didn't even exist. The Templars had taken his spirit from him, but he'd gotten it back. He vowed never to let them take anything else from him again, no matter what he had to do.


End file.
